


Perfect Corruption

by kasviel



Series: Perfect Paradise [1]
Category: Paradise Killer
Genre: Demonic Possession, Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasviel/pseuds/kasviel
Summary: This is the first story of a planned series based on the videogame "Paradise Killer": SPOILERS for the game ahead and in the story. It is a short prequel to the game focusing on Doctor Doom Jazz's first meeting with Henry Division. This is an Alternate Universe fanfic, since it will lead into my AU sequel to the game itself. I've taken some liberties describing Henry Division pre-possession: his appearance is how I picture he might look as a human youth, based on his character art, shared blood with Dainonigate, and what we know about his father, Eyes Kiwami. If there is ever official art or a description of how Henry appeared pre-possession, I will update the story accordingly. It's Henry and his demon, so there is strong language in this.
Relationships: doctor doom jazz, henry division
Series: Perfect Paradise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078328
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. The Arsonist

Doctor Doom Jazz had a bad feeling about going into work that day. He had spent the night drinking himself into a stupor, waking up to find several strangers in his bed. This morning, he was oddly obsessed with figuring out exactly what he had done with which partner. Even though it did not matter and his head was pounding, he was irritated by not remembering any details of the orgy.

Just when the coffee was finally winning the war against his hangover, Doom Jazz heard a commotion in the hallway. Swearing under his breath, he left his office. Two Marshals were wrestling someone through the hall, all of them shouting furiously at each other. Doom Jazz's headache flared up again.

“HEY!” he called. “Not in here!”

The person between the Marshals turned his face. Doom Jazz was surprised to see that it was just a teenage boy, not even a very tall one at that. His lanky brown hair fell in a disheveled bowl cut around a face that would have been cute if not for the feral sneer on it. Doom Jazz was stricken by his eyes: almond-shaped, the irises rich, deep brown. There was something familiar about those eyes, but the doctor had no time to ponder the matter.

“Fuck you!” the boy shouted back. “They're the ones that dragged me here, stupid assholes!”

One of the Marshals smacked the back of the boy's head hard, then gripped his hair. The boy snarled and struggled, but the other Marshal pinned his handcuffed wrists to his stomach. Doom Jazz was not happy about the noise the boy was making, but he did not like how roughly the Marshals were treating him.

“This idiot needs medical attention before he can be tried,” one Marshal said. “Patch him up so we can throw his ass in jail.”

“You fucking—ah!”

The Marshal kicked the back of the boy's knees, forcing him to the floor. Doom Jazz decided to intervene before they hurt him seriously. As he approached, he noticed that the boy's clothes were sooty, and his face had black smudges. Below the heavy golden handcuffs, he glimpsed burned flesh.

“The hell did you do?” Doom Jazz asked, kneeling before him. “That must hurt.”

“Don't even fucking feel it.”

“Stupid kid tried to burn down the convenience store,” a Marshal said. “All we need is some bandages to prove we brought him here. He'll be good enough for trial then.”

Doom Jazz pried the boy from the Marshals, lifted him to his feet. The kid had the misfortune to try to hit his hands away. His burned skin hit hard metal.

“Aow! What the _fuck_?!” the boy hissed. He looked Doom Jazz up and down for the first time. “Your doctor's a fucking robot? Hey, let go of me, you fucking tin can!”

Doom Jazz held a hand up for the Marshals to stay in place. He dragged the boy, kicking and cursing, into the nearest examination room. He sat him down in a chair. The boy immediately tried to make a run for it, but Doom Jazz slammed him back down hard.

“Where the hell are you going to go?” he pointed out. “Back to those Marshals? They'll let these cuffs scrape your skin off and then throw you in jail. Is that what you want?”

The boy turned his face, scowling. Doom Jazz held him in place for a minute, watching him. When he was certain the kid wasn't going anywhere, he ducked back into the hall. He got the keys for the cuffs from the Marshals, then shut the door on them again.

“Now, if I remove those cuffs, are you going to behave yourself?”

“Why don't you find out, tin can?”

Doom Jazz sighed, rubbing the center of his forehead. This brat was the last sort of patient he needed to deal with today. He unlocked the cuffs and removed them. He could see the boy's strangely familiar eyes searching for an escape route. Doom Jazz stood closely in front of him. The boy realized that he would not be able to get past the larger man with the massive metal arms. He crossed his arms with a bitter little “tch”.

“What's your name?”

“Fuck do you care?”

“I don't, but I am curious.”

“Henry,” he spat out. “Henry Division.”

“All right, Henry Division. I'm Doctor Doom Jazz.” Doom Jazz kept an eye on the boy while he fetched the necessary supplies. “Did you really try to burn down 2nd Heaven, Henry Division?”

The rage cleared from the kid's face and he gave an incongruously adorable smile. His dark eyes lit up. Doom Jazz could see that there was something seriously wrong with him. Still, he was fascinated. It had been ages since he had met such a spirited Citizen.

“Sure did,” Henry said proudly. “I almost … But then those fucking Marshals interrupted and ruined everything! Stupid fucking Citizens should have cheered me on instead of calling them. Gods-damned sheep.”

Doom Jazz drew a chair up in front of Henry Division and sat down on it. He took one of the kid's arms in his grasp and gave a small shake so the boy opened his palm. Although the kid was trying to be tough, Doom Jazz caught a wince. Doom Jazz gently rested Henry's arm down on the arm of his chair. The kid bit his bottom lip when Doom Jazz poured medicine onto a gauze pad.

“Don't worry, it won't hurt,” he reassured him. “This will clean the wound and ease the pain.”

“Who fucking cares?” Henry said. “I … I hardly even feel it.”

“You're a bad liar, Henry Division.”

“Fuck you!”

Doom Jazz soothed the wet gauze over Henry's singed flesh. As the pain faded, so did the boy's rage. Worry overtook his features. Doom Jazz suspected that the consequences of his actions were just now sinking in.

“You're a juvenile, I doubt you'll be in jail for very long,” Doom Jazz said. “You'll probably have more trouble with your dad than—”

“I don't have a dad,” Henry said. He covered the slip of sorrow by adding, “Pretty fucking lucky, huh?”

“Not really.”

“I don't need a fucking father or anyone else.”

“Hold still, kid.”

“I'm not a fucking kid!”

“No? How old are you?”

“Almost sixteen.”

Doom Jazz gave him such a patronizing look that Henry blushed. Doom Jazz turned Henry's arm over and swiped medicine over the back. Henry blew out a sigh.

“Old enough for jail,” Henry said. “That means I'm _not_ a kid.”

“The laws are hard on Citizens, that's all that means,” Doom Jazz said. “Personally, I wouldn't jail you for this.”

“Really? Because it was cool, right?”

“No, because _I—_ ” Doom Jazz met Henry's eager gaze directly. “—would give you a good, hard spanking instead.”

Henry's eyes widened. For a moment, he was actually at a loss for words. Then his face colored again and his scowl returned.

“F-fuck you.”

Doom Jazz gave him a cheerful smile, which Henry sullenly turned away from. The doctor wondered whether the kid was afraid of the threat or welcomed it. Doom Jazz finished medicating his left arm and proceeded to bandage it.

“I hardly remember my own father anymore,” Doom Jazz said. “He was a soldier, but he was a real bastard. If I had tried to set fire to anything, I would have been beaten bloody.”

“Shhh! You hear that?” Henry cocked his head. “I think I hear tiny violins playing!”

“What is your problem, Henry Division?” Doom Jazz asked mildly. He began to swipe medicine onto the boy's right arm. “You think you're the only one that has a right to their pain?”

“I'm not in pain, I'm just pissed off.”

“No one gets that pissed off without pain, believe me.”

“Whatever.”

Henry rolled his eyes, kicked one of the legs of Doom Jazz's chair. He was getting frustrated with the doctor's placid kindness. He had never met anyone that he failed to piss off before, and he did not know how to deal with the situation. Even worse was the fact that Doom Jazz seemed to see straight through him. Obstinacy was pointless in the face of perception like that.

Doom Jazz wanted to pry into the kid's psyche further, but soon he had finished bandaging his second arm. There was no point in getting close to a Citizen, anyway; their lifespans were that of a housefly compared to those of the Syndicate members. Doom Jazz took the kid's face in one hand, turning it this way and that. His face was uninjured, just dirty and sullen. He met the boy's eyes for a moment before Henry looked away. Beneath his belligerent act, there was just a trace of shyness in him. He ruffled a hand through the boy's hair and stood.

“Done. I'm afraid I'll have to cuff you again.”

Henry took one last look around, desperation in his gaze. His shoulders sagged when he saw there was no escape. He briefly chewed his bottom lip, then scowled. He thrust his freshly bandaged arms out at Doom Jazz.

“Just let me out of this fucking place, Doctor Doom Jizz.”

Feeling guilty, Doom Jazz handcuffed the boy's arms. He looked far too young for the restraints, the trial, and the inevitable jail time. Doom Jazz forced the feelings away and hurried to fetch the Marshals. He only hoped Henry would stay calm and not make the Marshals rough with him again.

Henry went with the Marshals willingly enough. The fight had gone out of him for the moment. Doom Jazz watched them lead him down the hallway, to the elevator. Before getting in, Henry glanced back over his shoulder at him. There was something so sad in that gaze that Doom Jazz almost looked away. Then Henry scowled and shrugged the Marshals away. The elevator doors closed on them, and they were gone.

_I hope he behaves and I never have to see him again,_ Doom Jazz thought. _Somehow, I doubt it. I doubt either the Marshals or I have seen the last of Henry Division._


	2. Burning From The Inside

Doom Jazz's premonition happened to be correct. The next time that his path crossed Henry Division's, the boy's body was burned and twisted by a rage that dwarfed even his own. Doom Jazz was very serious as he watched the news broadcasts and read the reports concerning Henry Division's possession. It bothered him to imagine the bratty teen he had treated being torn apart by a demon, even more so than the fact that Island 24 was now corrupted beyond repair. He kept thinking about the kid's swings between outright violence and near shyness, the fury and sadness in his dark eyes. What pain must he be in now? He was seventeen years old, and his life was already over.

Before the trial, Henry was wheeled into Doom Jazz's clinic strapped to a gurney. The restraints buckled against the boy's lithe body as the demon possessing him fought violently. Angry red sigils were burned into the kid's flesh, his hair had gone white, and his eyes were pure red now. Doom Jazz shoved down his personal feelings, unwilling to let himself suffer over the misguided young Citizen. He chemically suppressed the demon raging inside Henry, sedated him, and ran a multitude of tests on him. Possession was a rare occurrence and as a doctor, it was his duty to study it as closely as he could.

Henry Division was convicted of opening the cosmic gates into Island 24 for the demons, as well as murdering his mother, Rina Division, and the Syndicate's exorcist, Grace Bloodlines. He was sentenced to death but jailed until the execution could be carried out. Strangely, years would go by without the sentence being carried out.

Doom Jazz became Henry's primary caretaker. He made certain that he would not hurt anyone during his jail time, and continued studying him. It was not pleasant. The demon tormented him with cruel words, but those rolled off for the most part. What really bothered Doom Jazz was the way Henry suffered during his moments of consciousness. He begged for death, screamed that his body was burning from the inside out, or simply wailed incoherently. Never again would he sit unrestrained in Doom Jazz's office, he was constantly handcuffed, strapped down, and chained up. If Doom Jazz had allowed it, his heart would have bled for the kid.

Two years after the possession, Henry was brought to Doom Jazz's clinic for his annual round of tests. Doom Jazz had a highly secured laboratory set up in the basement of his clinic solely for Henry's tests and treatments. The kid was brought down in an elevator, strapped to a gurney as usual. He was unconscious, his still boyish face almost peaceful.

Henry awoke while Doom Jazz was drawing blood. Doom Jazz watched him closely to determine whether Henry or his demon was in control. Henry's eyes seemed human, and he lolled his head back and forth beneath the strap across his forehead to clear it.

“Doc … Ha … what's up, doc?”

“Henry?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Doom Jazz removed the strap across his forehead, brushed his white hair off his face. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin had an unnatural ashen tone. For a moment, Doom Jazz could only stare at him. This was no way for the feisty little Citizen to end up.

“Something on my face?” Henry asked. “Did that fucking demon burn something else there?”

“No.” Doom Jazz cleared his throat. “Ah, no. How do you feel, Henry?”

“Pretty shitty.”

Doom Jazz unfastened the straps around Henry's arms and waist. His legs were still tied down and he was chained to the heavy gurney. The young man sat up, propped on his elbows. He rubbed his arms and shoulders. He sat there docilely while Doom Jazz stripped off his prison uniform and examined him.

“There are a few more sigils on your chest and back,” Doom Jazz said. “These are still fresh. Let me get the burn medicine.”

“Just like old times,” Henry said. “Do you remember that? When we met the first time? Or was I just one more forgettable fucking Citizen?”

“I never forgot you, Henry,” Doom Jazz said. “I just wish that had been the last time we'd met.”

“So do I.”

“Why did you do it?”

Doom Jazz had asked Henry this question many times over the past two years. Sometimes, Henry answered flippantly. Other times, he ignored it entirely. Now, he shrugged.

“Bored fatherless kid in the slums, what else was I gonna do?”

“Henry … ”

Doom Jazz turned Henry around and blotted medicine onto a burned mark on his lower back. Even now, Henry's skin was burning hot; the liquid medicine steamed a little when it was applied. Eventually, Doom Jazz knew the damage would leave Henry little more than a husk. The skin that was still, where it wasn't burned, smooth, the muscles that were still taut with wiry fitness, all of it would be wasted by the demon.

“Lie down.”

Henry shifted under his leg restraints and lay on his stomach. Doom Jazz had been treating him for years and never observed him in an unprofessional manner. But had the young man moved with just a touch of languid sensuality? It drew Doom Jazz's gaze over Henry's figure. He noted that for a trim guy, he had a nicely round bottom.

Doom Jazz drew a deep breath and cursed himself for having been day drinking. _The hell am I thinking? He's not a child anymore but he's going through hell because of this damned demon. What kind of sick bastard checks out a guy possessed by a demon?_

Doom Jazz stifled his wayward thoughts. He wet another piece of gauze and applied it to a sigil on Henry's upper thigh. Henry propped himself up on his elbows, muscles in his long back shifting beneath his skin. He looked over his shoulder, watching the doctor work. Doom Jazz felt distraction creeping up on him again. He did his best to ignore that deep red gaze, and the curves of the young man's body.

Henry suddenly turned halfway over and reached out. His hand fell on Doom Jazz's large metal paw. Although Doom Jazz could not feel his touch, he was aroused by the way Henry's fingers clutched needfully at the burnished orange metal. He wanted to protest but could not look away from those ruby red eyes.

“I never forgot you, either,” Henry said softly. “You're the only person that's ever treated me like a human being. It was kind of nice, you know? Just talking to someone for once in my fucked up life.”

Doom Jazz overturned Henry's hand and gripped it lightly in his own.

“Do you want to talk, Henry?” he asked. “You can still talk to me, you know.”

“My body isn't even my own anymore,” Henry said. “Talk isn't the thing that I miss.”

Henry wriggled his legs out of the restraints. Doom Jazz was too conflicted by his growing attraction to the man to worry. Henry sat up on the gurney, ankles and waist still chained, and put his arms around Doom Jazz's neck. The heat of his skin was enough to nearly burn the doctor but he did not mind. Henry's warm palms pressed against his face, his lips were almost close enough to kiss.

“Do you miss touching, too?” Henry asked. “Do you miss your human hands, too? Do you miss the feeling of running your fingers over another person's skin?”

“Henry, stop.”

Henry knelt up on the gurney. Doom Jazz's erection stirred in response to his. Henry smelled like ash and sweat, and his pulse felt like pulsating lava. The red eyes seemed to blaze brighter. Doom Jazz tried to push him away but his hands remained locked on Henry's hips.

“This body won't be alive enough to enjoy for very much longer,” Henry said. “Haven't you been curious these two years, doctor? Don't you want to know how it would feel to fuck a demon?”

Doom Jazz pushed Henry away and rushed back from the gurney. The demon had done its best but it could not hide its true nature forever. Doom Jazz's mind reeled, trying to reconcile the fact that he had been talking to the demon all along. His frustration went beyond that of a doctor, a professional. Fury boiled in his veins but it was useless; he could not hurt the demon without hurting Henry's body.

The demon laughed, climbing down from the gurney. It could not reach Doom Jazz due to the chains. It did not need to, nor did it try. Doom Jazz averted his eyes from the erection the thing was forcing on Henry's body, feeling sick. How could he have been so stupid? He had almost ended up using the young man's body as shamelessly as this Void-blasted thing was.

“Don't pretend you're not tempted now, doctor,” the demon spoke through Henry's mouth. “Poor cute little Henry, poor fucked up kid with daddy issues even worse than your own. Poor thing! You wanted to save him, didn't you? What did you think? For just a minute, _what_ did you _think_ , doctor? I remember what you said. You wanted to keep him away from the Marshals, away from jail. You wanted to take poor little Henry home, give him a spanking, teach him a few lessons. Did you think you could fix this little boy that simply? Just like writing a prescription?”

“Fuck you.”

“Aha ha ha ha! Now you're starting to sound like him!” the demon crowed. “Two lost boys still running away, running away in this plastic Paradise of yours! Oh, it was innocent when you met, even _I_ can see that. But it's not anymore, is it? Two years of holding this body, looking into those tear-filled eyes, hearing his pathetic sobs and entreaties … Wouldn't it be nice to fuck him back to life? Wouldn't it be nice to fix someone in a way that actually matters?”

Doom Jazz knew there was no point in arguing with a demon. He stormed to the equipment storage closet, then the medicine cabinet. Although he tried to ignore the demon, he caught glimpses of him as he passed: fingering the unconscious man's cock, bending far over the gurney. Doom Jazz hated his own body for responding to the visual stimulus.

“Why don't you get a bottle of that whiskey you like so much and let go?” the demon asked. “Feel with every part you have left to feel. Fuck your poor little Henry while he's still this ripe. Look at how nice and tight he still is. There's nothing quite like youth, is there? And he's so young, so genuinely young compared to you Syndicate people, old souls wrapped in young flesh. You _do_ enjoy Citizens, don't you? You can almost _smell_ the difference between the true young and the falsely preserved … ”

Doom Jazz waited until the demon had bent far over the gurney. He grabbed the thing by the shoulders and held him in place. He knew the thing could feel his erection through his pants, barely inches from Henry's buttocks. While the demon expected him to fall to temptation, Doom Jazz plunged a syringe into him. Before the thing could properly react, Doom Jazz pulled his arms behind his back, into a restraint suit.

The demon howled curses at him, laughed, insulted him. Doom Jazz struggled him into a full-body restraint. He was grateful of his strong, unfeeling prosthetic arms. It took a lot, but he managed to wrap Henry's body inside the suit and strap him back down on the gurney. Despite his advantages, he came away from the battle with a black eye and a clawed chest.

“You stupid cunt!” the demon sneered. “Still running away from what you truly want. Pathetic lost boy, just like this one! Go play with your playthings! Might as well be playing with yourself! Ha ha ha ha! Citizen, Syndicate, you humans are all the same! You're all the fucking same! At least this stupid child knew that much!”

Doom Jazz retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the supplies closet. He uncorked it and drank from the bottle. Only when a quarter of it was gone did he call down the Marshals waiting to return Henry Division to jail.

Doom Jazz was shaken to his core by the incident. He refused to look closely at the reasons why. Instead, he locked himself in his office and emptied the bottle of whiskey. When it was finished, he opened another bottle. As he drank, his treacherous mind turned time back to that day two years ago, when he first met Henry Division. He could see the boy in the chair where he had treated him, swinging back and forth between rage and loneliness.

_If I had kept him here and talked to him longer, if I had held him in my arms, if I had done everything in my power to keep him out of jail back then … could I have saved him? Could I have spared him having that disgusting thing invading his body? Or would the class divide have made that impossible anyway? I could have at least tried, instead of … running away … like I am now._

Doom Jazz found himself unable to stop staring at the chair where Henry had once sat. In a fit of drunken rage, he picked it up and smashed it against the floor. He crashed it against the floor again and again, until it was in pieces.

He would not remember it for many years, but Doom Jazz took a fragment of the chair's arm. It was a piece of wood where Henry had once rested his burned hand as the doctor soothed the pain away with medicine. He put it in the bottom of his desk drawer, a reminder of something he never expected to revisit again.

Neither Doom Jazz, Henry, or even the demon could know that their fates were already scripted by the gods. Even the Syndicate members rarely stopped to consider the extreme foresight and power of the gods that swam through time and space as easily as mankind dreamed. How could anyone accept the fact that their smallest, most intimate moments were merely stitches in the tapestry of time?

The truth would come to light someday, but not on Island Sequence 24. This slice of Paradise was merely a prelude to Island Sequence 25: Perfect 25, where the wheels of fate would turn, and Paradise would be changed forever.

** The **

~~** End ** ~~

** Beginning **


End file.
